


eventually

by followsrabbit



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/pseuds/followsrabbit
Summary: It started when Chris made a joke about a ring.





	eventually

It started when Chris made a joke about a ring.

Which wasn’t to say that it was Chris’s fault, exactly—Chris made a lot of jokes, William rolled his eyes at most of them, and neither of them could have known that this one would strike home.

"C’mon, bro,” Chris called from the hall as William shrugged into his leather jacket, heart pounding with his proximity to Noora. Oslo. He was in Oslo again. He was in the apartment they’d shared here again, he was on his way to see her again, she’d told him that she loved him again.

(Emailed.) (It still counted.)

William ran a hand through his hair before pulling his hood up.

"Bro!” Chris called again. “Get your ass out here, you can hunt down flowers or chocolates or a fucking engagement ring after you get your girl back.”

And, sure, that was just Chris being an asshole, but—

William shook his head and forced himself out the door, giving himself over to gravity.

* * *

Seeing her again put his world back into focus. Put him back into place. Like the last eight months had been a broken bone that he couldn’t set right without Noora’s eyes on his, her skin on his, her voice in his ears.

While they’d talked—for hours—in their apartment, they’d been careful not to touch. Careful to keep enough space between them that touch wouldn’t slip into inevitability, like it had in their first frantic moments away from the party. As starved as he was for her, as much as he wanted his fingers knotted with hers or his arms around her or his mouth on hers again, they needed to talk first.

Talk through London, Nikko, and the trial. Talk through his work, his father, and his distance. The way she’d left him without saying a word.

Everything about Noora, from the feel of her skin to the smell of her hair, was still so familiar. Soft, lavender, perfect, beautiful, _home_. The minute he touched her… William knew himself, her, them, too well to think they’d finish talking about anything.

But now that they had—

William stood up from his chair, strode over to hers, and knelt down in front of her bare toes. A few blonde hairs had fallen into her face, who-knew-how-long-ago now, and he couldn’t stop himself from combing them back for her. Noora blinked at him, and then tilted her chin until she could curve her red lips into his palm.

“Can we be done talking now?” he asked. His forehead fell against hers. “Just… say that we’re together, Noora.” (He had said this to her before, over a year ago. She had said it to him.) (This time, it would stick.) “Say that you want us to be together.”

When she nodded, her chin brushed his. “No more space,” she murmured into his palm lines.

His smile grew. “Fuck space.”

Laughter brought her face up from his hand. “Fuck space,” she agreed, curling her fingers into his hair and tugging his face to hers.

* * *

They spent a long time in bed after that.

* * *

 A really long time.

* * *

Morning light leaked through the bedroom window, casting Noora’s mussed locks even blonder, her skin even warmer, than usual. William had lost his fingers in her hair a blur of minutes ago—so fucking soft—and his thoughts… Well, he’d lost control of those a while before. _Lost control_ in the sense that he had Noora’s face tucked against his chest, Noora’s breath on his skin, Noora’s legs twined with his, and was somehow thinking about something that Chris had said.

Chris.

William shook his head, stroked his fingers through Noora’s hair, and looked out to the yawning sky as he kneaded soft circles along her spine

“Hey, you.” He didn’t realize how long he’d been staring until Noora lifted her forehead, possibly for the sole purpose of poking at his heartbeat with her index finger. “You’re thinking too hard.”

 _Fucking hell, he loved her._ He pressed a kiss on her raised brow. “Not hard. Just thinking.”

“Don’t,” she murmured, mid-reach into kissing him. Her lips slid against his, his against hers, sleepy and slow. Maybe too slow, because Noora leaned away a moment later to squint at him. “Okay. What are you thinking about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Something Chris said.”

Noora’s squint turned incredulous, her smile wry. “You’re thinking about Chris right now?”

William shook his head again. “An idea of Chris’s.”

The skepticism remained. “ _Now_?”

Playing with the ends of her hair, he scanned her face, from her stretched brow to her blinking green eyes to her scrunched lips. He kept scanning, kept searching, until—

"What would you say if I asked you to marry me?” Until he heard himself speak.

A breath of laughter burst from Noora’s chest. “ _That_ was Chris’s idea?”

“Forget Chris. Say you want to marry me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.” He didn’t blink, just molded a kiss onto her cheek. “I love you.” Onto her jaw. “You love me.” Her chin. “We want to be together. And”—he lowered his voice when he reached her other cheek—“my name isn’t Willhelm.” He stole her lower lip between his teeth then, finally, before stretching his fingers through hers.

A breath later, she fell back against her pillow to squint at him for a long handful of seconds. “So, you’re proposing,” she clarified.

He nodded.

“Because of Chris?”

He groaned. “No more talking about Chris. He was kidding. I’m not.” And then, because she still didn’t seem to know whether he was genuine or joking, sleep-talking or serious: “We’ve spent the last eight months fucking miserable without each other.” (Just a few days ago, their mutual misery would have been a guess. Now it was a truth that he’d heard straight from her mouth.) “We’re never doing that again.”

Agreement prodded Noora’s chin.

“Will you marry me?” William had never given much thought to how he’d propose to Noora, beyond ‘eventually.’ If he had, he would have imagined something greater than morning breath banter, somewhere grander than bed.

Hesitation stalled her tongue. “William…” She didn’t quite shake her head, but slanted it. “We don’t need to get married to stay together.”

“I know.” His fingertips dripped from her shoulder blades to the small of her back. “Will you marry me?” It was fitting in a way, though. Peace never came as easy to him as it did lying in bed with Noora. (He’d know. He’d spent over a half a year scouring London for a flicker of it.)

Her brow creased, her eyes laughed, her back arched. “I’m still in school!” Her head still didn’t quite shake.

"Good point.” His lips twitched. “Noora Amalie Sætre, will you have a very long engagement with me?”

Her lips surrendered a wide smile. “You’re such a cliché.”

His spread into a wide, wide grin. “Is that a yes?”

She rolled her eyes, hugged her arms around his neck, and dragged him as close to her as she could. ( _Drag_ was the wrong word.) ( _Dragging_ implied resistance, and he gave none.) “Ask me again when I’m awake. Without mentioning Chris.”

Somehow, he dragged her even closer. “It’s a yes.”

She didn’t agree, but kissed him again, which was nearly as good.

* * *

He did propose again, eventually, with a ring and a bent knee and a speech that had nothing to do with his best friend.

(This technicality did not stop Chris from giving himself full credit for the wedding in his best man speech, one very long engagement later.)


End file.
